


Crush

by venom_for_free



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crush, M/M, This just broke my heart so I had to write more of it., poem inspired, richard siken, serious tone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free
Summary: "The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwaterbecause he is trying to kill you,and you deserve it, you do, and you know this,and you are ready to die in this swimming poolbecause you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this meansyour life is over anyway.You’re in the eighth grade. You know these things.You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to dolong division,and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unlesshe keeps his mouth shut, which is what youdidn’t do,because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore."― Richard Siken, Crush, A Primer For The Small Weird LovesOr: Inspired by this poem that sets the scene, guided by more snippets of works from Richard Siken
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 26
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsagiStilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsagiStilinski/gifts).



> The title and poems were borrowed from Richard Siken.  
> He is an amazing poet and the parts of his work that I saw so far left me emotional.  
> This is not "fun to read", but I guess the summary gives that away.  
> Thank you for reading it anyway.
> 
> Also thank you to Taedae for being the best friend and editor I could ask for.

**_" The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater_ **

**_because he is trying to kill you,_ **

**_and you deserve it, you do, and you know this,_ **

**_and you are ready to die in this swimming pool_ **

**_because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means_ **

**_your life is over anyway._ **

**_You’re in the eighth grade. You know these things._ **

**_You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do_ **

**_long division,_ **

**_and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless_ **

**_he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you_ **

**_didn’t do,_ **

**_because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore."_ **

― Richard Siken, Crush, A Primer For The Small Weird Loves 

  
  


Otabek accepted his fate. 

He guessed it was okay. 

What else would it be? Not that there were any other options than "okay". He couldn't fight. 

Oh. 

Physically he could. Physically he could always fight. Like the one time some boy took scissors into his greasy, chubby hands to cut Yuri's hair because they couldn't handle another boy so beautiful, so tempting. 

Otabek knew Yuri was tempting because he had fallen for him, too. But that wasn't Yuri's fault. None of this was Yuri's fault. 

He also fought when one of the girls tried to paint whiskers on Yuri’s face after he fell asleep on a bench in the schoolyard. Otabek wasn't so simple to think women were defenseless fairies and didn't deserve to be called out. He hadn't physically fought her, though, so he guessed there was a difference after all. 

He wouldn't fight Yuri. 

Not because he was weak or reminded Otabek of a woman. 

Wasn't that the problem in the first place? Yuri wasn't a woman. He looked like a fairy, yes. But even after he cut his previously tailbone-long hair until it barely grazed his shoulders—because the dickhead with the scissors got a good chunk before Otabek could connect his fist to his jaw—Yuri was still incredibly beautiful. Not because he looked like a woman, though. 

It tipped people off when Otabek tried to defend the "fairy". Yuri hated the nickname. Otabek hated how accurate it was. Not because he looked like a woman. Fairies didn't have to be women. But Otabek saw his grace. He saw how Yuri moved and fought and how pretty he looked even when he spit blood because his lip was torn apart from a blow he took after defending Otabek. 

That's right. His fairy had defended him. 

When the hair-cutting boy had gone down, his buddies jumped in and cornered Otabek. Three against one weren't fair chances. He went down after two. He couldn't feel bad. At least he had taken down two. But the prepared blow from the third never connected. Not to him. 

That day, Otabek learned Yuri was a fairy and a wild tiger. Even with a broken lip on a broken boy, his spirit wasn't damaged. It shone brighter than ever before. Almost as bright as the scissors in his hands, reflecting the light falling through the dirty windows. 

Yuri pressed them to the boy's neck, and Otabek was gone, completely out of it. He thought it was from pain. At first. But it wasn't. With Yuri, it had never been about pain. Not even with bruised knuckles and black eyes. They had an abundance of those over the months. The teachers looked away, the parents looked away. It would have meant acknowledging the problem. 

But Otabek couldn't turn his head. He always looked  _ at  _ Yuri. Just Yuri. Only ever Yuri. 

"Are you going to become friends with me or not?" 

It had been that easy. A dare more than a proposition, really.

Despite how delicate he looked, Yuri never said no to a challenge. Maybe because he knew it was the only way to survive as a boy with long hair who loved dancing. 

Which was why Yuri spat at him the first time. After saving Otabek. 

_ Who do you think you are, the fucking hero of Kazakhstan?  _

But after the whiskers-girl and their friendship dare, Yuri changed. For some reason, Otabek managed to gain the trust of the one person he wanted to be near to. A fucking fairytale. 

People kept talking about them. But he didn't hear it. He never heard anything when Yuri laughed next to him. It stole the sound from his ears, the air from his lungs, the blood from his head. 

Yuri was so beautiful. 

Otabek wanted to touch him. He knew he couldn't. He never could. He'd burn his fingers because Yuri was brighter than the sun. He'd blister and burst. His skin would peel from the heat whenever Yuri touched him casually. An arm around his back. A head rested on his shoulder. Small things no one noticed. 

It was so good. It was disgusting. Otabek was disgusting. Because he knew Yuri didn't like him like this. It was wrong to indulge in those urges, false to use Yuri's friendly affection as something to quench his deeply rooted thirst for the boy with the long blond hair and the rainforest eyes. 

_ Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.  _

One day Yuri would find out about Otabek using him to soothe his most profound pain. 

One day was today. 

And so he didn't fight. He never fought Yuri. Only ever with him.

For the time being, he was holding his breath. But should he? Wouldn't it be easier to inhale? The water and the chlorine and the knowledge that he was alone in this world for the rest of his life because  _ no one  _ would come after Yuri? 

_ Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. _

That's what the other boys called him. They knew now. Everyone knew now. Everyone was angry. No one was as angry as Yuri.

He was sitting on Otabek's back right now. Well, not sitting. Water made it hard to acknowledge distinct positions. But it didn't matter, nothing mattered. Nothing but the chlorine burning his eyes and the water in his nostrils threatening to rush in once he finally inhaled. 

He was as good as dead anyway. 

Because he was in Russia and he was in love, and he couldn't be. 

Evident by the laws. Evident by the stares Otabek got in the changing room when he looked at Yuri for a moment too long. When his traitorous teenage body decided to betray the one thing he had to hide.  _ He had to hide. _

But Otabek failed, and now it was evident in the way Yuri pressed his head underwater. 

It was okay. 

What else should it be? 

If Yuri didn't want him, he didn't want himself anyway. Throw away the whole boy, nothing about him was salvageable. 

He was wrong, vile, disgusting. 

Otabek smiled. 

At least it was Yuri and not one of the other kids. At least Yuri would be respected after this. Was one respected for killing his only friend when said friend turned out to be perverted? Like he was? 

The pressure was suddenly gone, but he didn't dare lift his head. What for? Air? He didn't need air. He needed earth and stone and moss in front of a granite block. There wouldn't be flowers, Otabek had no illusions. 

Maybe there wouldn't be a granite block either. No one wanted to remember someone like him. 

Would Yuri remember? Would Yuri come talk to him? Years later, when no one cared anymore who he had been and when Yuri settled down with a beautiful wife and his 1.5 children? 

His head was forced above water, but Otabek stubbornly refused to take a breath. Yuri wanted him dead. It was such an easy request. He only had to give him everything he had. It wasn't hard. Otabek planned on doing that anyway. 

_ "BREATHE. FUCKING BREATHE, ALTIN!"  _

His teacher. 

Why had he saved him? Oh. He might not know about Otabek's crimes yet. It would be okay. The others would tell him soon enough, and then, if Otabek was lucky, he would push his head back underwater. But it wasn't Yuri anymore, and he wanted it to be Yuri. 

Killing him slowly. Killing him quickly. The circumstances didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. Only Yuri. 

Then, black. 

  
  


**_“He’s on top of you. He’s next to you, right next to you in fact. He has the softest skin wrapped entirely around him. It isn’t him. It isn’t you. You’re falling now, you’re swimming. This is not harmless. You are not breathing._ **

**_You’re climbing out of the chlorinated pool again. We have not been given all the words necessary. We have not been given anything at all.”_ **

― Richard Siken, Crush, The Dislocated Room 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a second chapter for those who hate open endings, so I hope it helps to clarify things.


	2. Chapter 2

**_“We have not touched the stars,_ **

**_nor are we forgiven, which brings us back_ **

**_to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,_ **

**_not from the absence of violence, but despite_ **

**_the abundance of it.”_ **

― Richard Siken, Crush, Snow and Dirty Rain

  
  


Otabek was in a bed when he opened his eyes. That was a surprise. He imagined hell to look different. If churches lied about this, what else did they lie about? 

Surely it couldn't be heaven. Sinners like him weren't sent to heaven. They were spat on, buried, and forgotten. 

Was he forgotten already? How long had he been gone? Why was he in this bed, not an ambulance, or, if God was indeed merciful, a graveyard? 

"You're awake." 

The voice would have startled him if he hadn't known it for years. Otabek smiled. Maybe, for some fucked up reason, he had made it into heaven. But why was Yuri here? Had they assumed? Because Otabek had told everyone his feelings, even without opening his mouth, had they assumed Yuri was like him? Would their granite blocks stand next to each other? 

"Otabek." 

He looked over again, his smile fond. If they were dead, it didn't matter, right? No one could kill what was already dead. 

"Yuri?" 

His fairy stared at him. He looked the same as always. Ethereal. The blond hair kissed his shoulder blades, and all Otabek wanted was to touch it. To card his fingers through the golden harp strings. 

"Is it true?" 

Otabek blinked. Everything he ever told Yuri was true. He would never lie to him, he couldn't. But he didn't know what others might have said to his best friend. His only friend. So he had to make sure.

"What?" 

"That you like… boys. That you like me. Like that." 

Otabek smiled somberly. There were no sins in heaven. And hell had to know worse than the unrequited love of someone who couldn't yet call himself a man. Otabek was no longer afraid. What should he fear with Yuri by his side? 

"Yes." 

Yuri squinted his eyes. 

"Just like that?" 

This made Otabek laugh. No. Not just like that. He hadn't woken up today and decided to love Yuri Plisetsky. He woke day after day, month after month, carefully cultivating the caterpillars in his stomach until they were fully grown butterflies. Every time Yuri smiled. Every time he brushed his hand through his hair. The one time he blushed when they got too close, and the forest in his eyes was set alight with the fire of his cheeks. 

Yuri wasn't a piece of art Otabek looked at once and decided he liked it. Yuri was bruised knuckles and bubblegum ice cream. He was kicking and stomping and leaping and spinning. He was the beginning warmth of a spring morning and the cold crisp of an autumn night. Almost hot enough to burn. Almost cold enough to freeze. 

Otabek was reminded of the blisters Yuri's touch left on him. But you couldn't blister when you were dead. 

"No. Not just like that. Every day. A little more. Until one day, it was everything. You are everything." 

He was still smiling. There was nothing left to fear. No father beating him to death, no mother denouncing her only son, no sisters to turn away from his sins. Only Yuri. 

"Beka … I almost killed you." 

And that was it. The single word that stole his smile and froze his face. 

_ Almost.  _

_ Yuri almost killed him.  _

Otabek blinked a few times, and Yuri misunderstood. Yuri misunderstood a lot. 

"Oh, you didn't remember anymore? I'm… fuck. I'm so sorry. I had to, or they would have—" 

He gave up in the middle of the sentence. They both knew what they would have done. What they might still do. Now that he understood he wasn't dead, all the terrible things could happen again. 

But at least not to Yuri. Yuri protected himself the only way he could. Otabek was glad. Just this once, he couldn't help his best friend. Just this once, Yuri fought on his own. Because Otabek already lost. He lost every respect anyone might have had. He lost his family. Not yet, but he would when they found out. And with all of this, he could have lived. 

But he lost Yuri, too. 

Until he didn't. 

Because suddenly he had a lap full of fairy, of tiger, of a blond boy that was very much not a woman but so perfect it didn't matter. Not to Otabek. Only to everyone else. 

Yuri held his eyes, his jaw. 

"I wish you had told me another way."

And then they kissed. 

Chaste. Slow. Burning hot. 

Otabek could feel the fire consuming his mind, his body, his soul. Until he was no more. Until there was only Yuri and the feeling of floating with lead weights strapped to his legs. 

They both knew they couldn't love like this. Because it was wrong.

_ Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.  _

Otabek understood the heat running through him was hell's fire licking his fingertips. He was as good as dead. He was already burning up, turning to ash, falling to dust. But Yuri still held his jaw. His eyes were closed, no more connection between their gazes, but it didn't need to be. Otabek knew now that the connection between their hearts was more reliable. Not unrequited. Just meant to die. Die with them, when they would eventually be found out. 

The hero and the fairy. 

Otabek hoped their tombstones would stand next to each other. 

**_“Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.”_ **

― Richard Siken, Crush, The Torn-Up Road


End file.
